


wayward and torn (you're welcome here)

by cel10e



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Flashback, Gen, Trapped In Elevator, could be read as pre-Peggy/Daniel if you like, discussion of war injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 10:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3933415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cel10e/pseuds/cel10e
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accident at the SSR shakes loose a memory from Agent Sousa's past. Thompson feels like this has happened before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wayward and torn (you're welcome here)

Of course, Peggy thinks wryly, it would be the elevator.

The SSR had taken a few weeks to right itself after the catastrophe that had been colloquially labeled “Stark Week” among the junior agents. Thompson had proven himself a surprisingly effective Chief once his promotion was made official, and while Peggy was tempted to be sore about it — and Sousa had certainly been at first — the atmosphere in the office had markedly changed for the better. Peggy soon found herself effectively second-in-command, a far cry from the lunch orders and coffee duties of the past.

The trail on Dottie had not so much gone cold as it had been nonexistent from the start, and a bigger fish had arrived in the form of a suspected HYDRA agent, working under a pseudonym at an accounting office a few blocks from the office. Thompson had assembled a generous detail to make the arrest — after their encounter with Leviathan, no one was taking chances.

And so it was six of them in the small elevator — Thompson, Carter, Sousa, Hawkins, Perez and Blake — when a cable snapped between the fourth and third floors, causing the car to list ever-so-precariously to the left. Even as Hawkins sprang forward to pound his fist against the emergency stop button, the falling cable slammed into the top of the elevator car, pitching Peggy and Jack, who had been on the right side of the car with him, straight into Sousa and Blake. The lights buzzed and popped for a moment, as if deciding whether to jump ship as well, and after a few seconds of utter, terrifyingly loud darkness —

Everything stopped.

The lights came back on slowly, flickering cautiously back into existence. Someone released a shaky breath, and Peggy, finding herself more or less on top of everyone, carefully lifted a hand to the wall, searching for a handhold, a break in the paneling, anything to pull herself away by. Being met with little success, she at least managed to remove her knee from Agent Blake’s armpit and her hand from Sousa’s crutch, and braced her feet against the wall to push herself up along the slanted floor and give the others some room to sort themselves out.

It took a few minutes and a good deal of agility, but they managed to get themselves marginally comfortable, with Sousa, Blake and Perez sitting at the “bottom” and Peggy, Thompson and Hawkins at the “top”. Hawkins, one of the SSR’s youngest agents and clearly shaken, had promptly curled into the wall, head buried into an elbow wedged into the doorframe. “Leave him be,” Peggy says quietly, glancing at the other agents’ bewildered faces.

Another moment of silence passes, and then Sousa speaks. “They won’t miss us,” he muses. “No one will try to use the elevator for at least another two hours.”

“And it had to be the one time we didn’t bring radios,” Thompson adds.

“Couldn’t we at least try and get the doors open? Yell for help, or something?” Perez suggests.

“No one’s listening. They’re either three floors up or three floors down, and no one’s ever in the damn corridor anyway.” Blake gestures as he speaks.

“I guess we wait, then.” Thompson didn’t look like he was happy about it.

“No one’s listening,” Sousa repeats, distantly. Peggy frowns, glancing at Thompson, who shrugs. “Daniel?” she prompts. “Daniel, are you with us?”

“I’m –” Sousa’s brow furrows, his jaw working silently, eyes unfocused. “They –”

“Flashback,” Perez mutters. The other agents turn when he speaks, and he shrugs, holding up his bad hand, the stumps of his fingers dark against his white shirt. “My wife chopping peppers turns into knife-happy Nazis and,” he drops his hand, “well, I don’t go in the kitchen anymore.”

Peggy frowns again, deeper, and places a hand on Sousa’s good leg. “Daniel? Where are you?”

“They left,” Sousa says. “They left us there, no one – no one would hear.” He glances around nervously, twisting a hand in the fabric of his trouser leg, and repeats, “No one’s listening.”

“Daniel,” Peggy repeats. “You’re safe here. We will get out of this.” She glances at Thompson for support, and, finding him staring dumbly back at her, jerks her head sharply toward Sousa, expression clearly indicating that she’s bloody well not going to let him zone out too. Thompson nods, dragging a hand over his face.

“Daniel, whatever you experienced, it will not happen again.” Peggy keeps talking, her voice low and calm, and Thompson finds himself wondering how many times she’s done this. “Daniel, you are safe. Can you hear me?”

Something in Sousa’s face clears a little, and Peggy rubs a thumb over his knee. “That’s it. Are you with us?”

“Yeah, I’m –” Sousa tips his head back against the wall, swallowing the end of his sentence. “I’m good.”

“Good,” Peggy echoes. Thompson moves to add something, but is cut off by a muffled shout from outside. The elevator jolts, earning itself a muffled epithet out of Hawkins, and someone shouts again, clearer this time.

Blake grins. “They found us.”

“About time,” Perez adds. “Now let’s get that damn door open.”

\----------

They didn’t make the arrest that afternoon, needless to say. Thompson took one look at Hawkins’ face and sent the kid home for the rest of the day, muttering half-irritably about how he’ll never let him off desk duty again (at which Hawkins’ face visibly brightened). The others stayed for the last few hours of their shifts, but after dealing with the police, media, repair crew, and their anxiously sympathetic coworkers, it was obvious none of them would be getting much done.

Sousa stays late, sticking to his usual routine, one of the last to tidy up for the day. Peggy keeps an eye on him all afternoon, watching for any more pieces to the puzzle, cataloguing every movement, every word, every look. Thompson, in turn, watches her, remembering how she pieced him together that same way from across a campfire in Russia, and smiles, and keeps his distance.

As Sousa finally makes to leave, Peggy ‘finishes’ sorting the papers that she’s been shuffling for at least twenty minutes and gathers her things. “Daniel?”

He turns as he stands. “Yeah, Peggy?”

“I thought I might take you up on that drink,” Peggy offers, cautiously. “If you’re not busy tonight.”

He smiles, not quite reaching his eyes, and takes a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> There may be more to this story. I haven't quite decided.


End file.
